


the remedy for a broken heart

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Music, M/M, Mild Language, don't worry they work things out, iwaizumi was just done with oikawa's shit, the post-break up usual shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 15:35:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17625062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: To Oikawa, his voice is the most important thing to him. It tells the truth, he may be America’s top trending Musician of all time, but he has so many flaws hidden behind the cameras. He’s worked his way to the top, and he wasn’t alone. Well, now he is because he was selfish with his pride, his insignificant pride that leads him with a broken heart.---Oikawa is an upcoming musician, he has everything, a career, friends, but as of right now, the thing he wants most wants nothing to do with him.





	the remedy for a broken heart

**Author's Note:**

> i think i like to see my favorite characters suffer

The guitar lays in his hand. He could make a choice, the strings transfixed in snapped pieces. Oikawa assuredly can fix the broken strings in a heartbeat, he was no amateur. But, yet his hands make no movement to tweak and mend the severed ties. His fingers gently brush against the bridge, the rough bumps denting his hands. It all felt so familiar, but at the same time, something was missing. It was like a slap to the heart, shattering it into a million pieces.

Oikawa was searching and searching but couldn’t find anything. His voice was rough, snot was dripping his nose, as he tried to wipe it away. There was nothing he could do, he had to admit, it sucked just waiting around, waiting for him to take Oikawa back. The collateral damage has already been done, the deal has been sealed, and know everything was a mess. Well, everyone seemed to be fine, except for him. His hands ache from the scratches left from the guitar strings. The tips calloused and oozing pink. They toughened over the years, but he still managed to play too hard. Oikawa refrained from using the alien guitar chip that his brother had given to him when he was younger, it was a gift, he understood that but the chip had some horrible lingering memories attached to it. And Oikawa had a habit of carrying it around wherever he went, so bad luck seemed to follow him for the rest of his life.

To Oikawa, his voice is the most important thing to him. It tells the truth, he may be America’s top trending Musician of all time, but he has so many flaws hidden behind the cameras. He’s worked his way to the top, and he wasn’t alone. Well, now he is because he was selfish with his pride, his insignificant pride that leads him with a broken heart. Now, is there any way to find a remedy to heal it? The one thing in life that was worth living for, sing for, is now gone. His whole band notices it too, his loss in interest, his voice wanes of his usual passion. Instead, his voice grows lower and softer. It’s not bad, they actually get more fans with the ghastly change in their music. Everything’s different, even more so, him.

He’s lost, all he can think about when he sings, are a pair of green eyes. They watch him go, eyes turning the other way. Oikawa yells out to the figure often, but all he can do is watch him go. Oikawa is the lead singer, he can’t afford to break or give any intel of vulnerability when he performs. He’s expected to be in top shape, avoids caffeine before performances, minimal drinking.  
Oikawa was just an ordinary college student, with no miracle powers, nothing that made him stand out. Yes, he was popular, extremely with the girls at his university, but that was only because he was on the news. Usually, he would help him out with that part. Shield him away from the public, make him actually believe that he had privacy. That was the thing about fame, it can change a person. Before, there were delicately placed recollections that Oikawa could pull out tether with just a single hand. He could laugh, like the heavy weight of an upcoming show. He can sing, knowing that his best friend would be there, watching him as he dangles the faithful red string of fate in front of him.

Now, cameras flash in his presence everywhere he walks, no matter where he goes, someone's bound to find him. Oikawa can only hold up the mask for so long, only before it would all break. And the worse thing about it, is that the whole world would now about it. Iwaizumi would know about it. That was his worst fear, worse than stage fright, seeing his face, full of disappointment. Not ever since he walked out of Oikawa’s apartment, he hasn’t seen him since hasn’t been able to get out his last words he said to Oikawa before slamming the door behind him. That was two weeks ago, and Oikawa hasn’t heard anything since.

Since, Oikawa has been cooped up in his apartment, the illegible piece of lined paper that he’s supposed to be practicing. His messy handwriting slanted and sludged from the dried up tears. The number of vodka bottles laying in the living room, he could just about make a stack of them and call it a castle. The guitar’s neck feels numb in his hand, but that could be the rush from the alcohol in his bones. Along with the many antidepressants he’s digested, they grind in his stomach, the coffee churning in his throat. He hated the taste, but it was the only flavor he had left in his pantry that was less than five steps away from his bedroom. He craved the fresh pot of caramel coffee with a shot of espresso that he and Iwaizumi would make early in the morning, they both had morning classes, and it helped.

Since he hasn’t opened up his phone, actually, it’s probably dead in the corner of his desk where he threw everything else. But he knows countless people have called him, Kuroo is probably bursting his IM’s, his inbox filled with texts and dubiety, threatening messages. Daichi’s most likely called about a thousand calls, voicemails. He was Iwaizumi’s roommate, he understood, they were friends. And he can’t even imagine how mad his bandmates are at him. He dropped off everything, social media; Instagram, even Snapchat. He presumes that he lost all of his streaks, not that was important at the second. And god, he hasn’t bothered to take a look at the mirror. His hair felt like a bird nest's, it was dry in his hands and smelled horrible. He should take a shower, maybe put on a face mask, he has pimples Oikawa can only imagine. He did not want to be seen in public at all. Or for Iwaizumi or anyone to see him like this right now, his haggard features, horrible drinking habit. If his manager saw him right now, oh he would get it.

Oikawa leans against the couch, the t.v’s noises blurring out in the background. The blanket cocooning around his body, body heat radiating like liquid through his bones. His muscles are tight from sitting on the carpet, his long limbs aching as he flexes his knees out of the crisscrossed uncomfortable position. He plays with the guitar, dolefully strumming the strings that aren’t broken. Plucking them, he hums slowly. He didn’t where he was going with the tune he sang, but his voice grows as the words flow from his mouth.

_Why am I so in love?_  
_Why am I so in love?_  
_Why am I so in love?_  
_I don't know why_

Oikawa could hook-up with countless, nameless people, he could win trophies and awards for his amazing performances and concert, be rich off his songs being sold in music stores. He did everything he wanted to do, everything but tell his childhood friend he was in love with him. Yes, he was pathetic, and he’s had so many chances to confess, but he threw them all away. Made him sick of Oikawa, he distasted, wanted nothing to do with him now. Understandable, he wanted to do nothing with himself.

The phone rings, and he jerks, startled. It wasn’t his own phone, but the house phone that his mother convinced him to buy a while ago. Setting the quitar, he stumbles out of the blanket, nearly tripping over the blankets and beer cans. He catches the phone before it can go to voicemail.

“Hello?”

“Where the hell have you been? The final performance is tonight!” Kuroo’s voice burst through the receiver and Oikawa’s winces at the loudness of his voice.

“I’m quite aware, not so loud.” Oikawa yawns, only infuriating his bed-headed friend more.

“Are you drunk?” he asks, and Oikawa snorts, looking over his shoulder at the dirty room.

“And if I am? I’m a grown man.” he says, and Kuroo scoffs, and he can hear him sigh through the other side.

“Don’t do anything stupid, I’m coming over.” and the line is dead.

He knew it would only take Kuroo five minutes from his apartment off of campus, two minutes if he broke the law. So he waits, he could clean up the mess, but if he did, then it would only prove how much he wanted to cover up the fact of how much a mess was right now. So he sits there, with a vodka bottle in hand, the sour and bitter, disgusting taste that he forces himself to drink. The bottle is quarter way full by the time the doorbell rings, followed by about a hundred knocks. He slips on the rug of the foyer, gripping the shoulders of the bottle.

“You know this is really unnecessary,” he says, while opening the door.

The figure pushes past him, as an angry Iwaizumi storms through his apartment, unwelcomed. Oikawa squawks, and watches as hard green eyes survey the clutter around the living room. He turns back to the hallway where a sheepish, and yet brutish Kuroo stands.

“You never said he was going to be joining us.” Oikawa scowls, hiccuping in between.

Iwaizumi swings back to meet Oikawa and he can’t look him in the eyes, “what the fuck is this Oikawa?”

Oikawa, not Tooru. Ouc,h that’s going to hurt for a bit. The harshness in his voice meets the rigid irate posture, arms crossed. Almost like old times.  
“I’ll let you two be, be ready for tonight at six pm sharp.” Kuroo waves a hand, settling a hard look at Oikawa before closing the door behind him.

Wel,l now he’s fucked, mind his language. This is definitely not how he imagined spending his saturday night. He rolls his eyes, knocking the tip of the bottle to his mouth, when Iwaizumi reaches over, slapping the bottle out of his hand, causing for off opaque crystalline glass to go crashing on the kitchen floor. Oikawa gapes mouth wide before glaring at Iwaizumi.

“That costed ten dollars, what the hell?” he frowned, and Iwaizumi grabs his wrist, fingernails digging into the front of his hand.

“Enough of this bullshit. What the fuck is going on Tooru?” aah, there it is. He used his first name, he really wasn’t joking.

He really hated it when Iwaizumi called him by his first name, it sounded heavy on his tongue. Tooru, Hajime.

“Just been drinking, what do you care?” he shot back, twisting away from his hold.

“What do I care? How do you assume that I don’t give a shit about the fact that your a fucking mess!” he growls out, pulling him close.

“Just leave.” he whispered, and Iwaizumi shakes his head, nudging to the room around them, smelling like bile.

“I can’t Tooru, how about that? You smell like a rat died, your hair is a bird’s nest, the apartment is disgusting, and it’s clear you’ve been drinking.” his voice cracks, as he stares dead into his eyes. “How could I leave you?”

“Your the one who left me!” he screams, his voice raspy. Slapping him hard, the sting on his palm, as he retracts his hand away. “It’s you! Who made me like this.” he hisses, breath so close to his mouth.

“Tooru.” Iwaizumi mumbles, gripping his wrist again.

“Don’t say my name, don’t ever call me-” his words are cut off, and he’s unable to talk anymore.

Lips pressed hard against his, he’s being pushed against the front door, Oikawa’s trapped. Hot hands clutch his waist, he couldn’t be any closer to Iwaizumi than he is now. The feeling’s uncomfortable, new, hot breaths mangle together. The first touch is soft, chapped lips against Iwaizumi’s dewy lush ones. He knows he used carmex, but this was unreal, and he wonders how many other people have kissed him. He can feel the desperation reeling off him, and he gasps for breath pushing Iwaizumi’s shoulder to breathe. Their lips pull apart, but so near he could taste the minty scent of the lip balm.

“Don’t stop.” he gulps, tremoring experasted, and Iwaizumi grabs the back of his matted hair pulling him again.

This time, the desperation reeks from the both of them, teeth graze each other, hot touches, for a first kiss, there’s a lot of teeth and moans that they never thought they’d hear from the other. Oikawa combs Iwaizumi’s hair through his fingers, grabbing it hard. He withering under his touch, hopelessly moaning in his mouth. There kissing in his gross dirty apartment, and Iwaizumi looks at him when they part like Oikawa’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Tooru, I love you.” he whispers beneath his bottom lip, not parting quite yet.

“I love you too, since we were little.” he hiccups, from the tears that have fallen from his eyes, or maybe it was the vodka, either way, Iwaizumi laughs, brushing the tears away.

He kisses his forehead, pulling him towards the bedroom, “we’ll fix this together.”

Together, he never thought in his life, he would ever hear that. But he liked the sound of it.

(two hours later, he performs, his guitar in his hand, strings fixed now, and everything is alright.)

 

  

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> watch for more updates on this series!


End file.
